Harry Potter and the Nightmare Newborn
by shabbacabba
Summary: The worst of nightmares leave us shaking and cold in our beds. Harry wishes he could be so lucky.
1. Chapter 1

The sun rose over Hogwarts.

The multitude of massive bells in the clock tower began to toll the hour.

Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore sat in his throne at the center of the head table and wondered if Harry would show up to breakfast this morning. After the disaster that was the Tri-Wizard champion selection the previous night, he wouldn't be surprised if young Harry decided to avoid his peers for a short time. The lad was under quite a lot of scrutiny from them at the moment after all.

The headmaster picked at his breakfast in contemplation as Hermione Granger sat at the Gryffindor table, joining the other early risers. That she came alone rather than wait for her friends did not bode well in Albus' mind. There must have been some argument among them, likely regarding whether Harry had entered himself in the tournament or not if he had his guess.

Just how his name had managed to come out of the Goblet was no mystery. A knowledgeable enough wizard would have had no issue convincing the cup that there were, in fact, _four_ schools competing instead of the actual three. From there it is a simple matter to enter young Harry as the only competitor from said nameless school, thereby forcing his selection as champion.

Or, at least that's how Albus would have done it. In truth, the _how_ matters little. The why is also fairly simple to guess: someone wants young Harry to either die or suffer as a result of the tournament. The real meat of the problem is the _who_.

For this, Albus has no answer: merely guesswork and wild hypothesis that would do him no good to speak of to anyone.

The great bells of the clock tower sound their last, and as they fade away they are replaced with the typical sounds of the great hall in the early morning: the scratching of silverware on plates, quiet conversation among the early risers of the castle with the occasional joyous laugh interspersed therein, and equally quiet but much more professional conversation held between the staff members that chose to take their breakfast here instead of in their private quarters.

"Albus?" He turned to look at his Deputy, a curious twinkle in his eye, as she continued. "What do you make of the situation with Mr. Potter? It all seems very suspect to me."

The headmaster hummed thoughtfully for a moment before responding. "Suspect indeed, Minerva. I have no doubt that young Harry did not enter himself, and that whoever did, did so with less than benevolent intentions. It is the who that mystifies me at the moment."

It was with a thoughtful expression and pursed lips that Minerva responded, "Are you so sure that-" From behind Albus' throne came a light and airy chime. Surprised by the sudden sound, she turned and narrowed her eyes at something Albus could not see behind him. "Now where did that come from?" She said to herself.

Curiosity piqued, Albus rose and stepped around his throne to get a look at whatever had gotten his deputy's attention. There, a few feet behind, and slightly off center from his seat was a cast iron lamp held aloft, perhaps three feet from the ground, on a crooked pole. The lamp gave off a faint blue light.

"Curious," Albus said. "Where _indeed_ did this lamp come from?" As he spoke he drew his wand, prepared to cast the first of many detection spells on it, when the bells that he had not noticed tied to the bottom of the lamp, gave a sudden jerk, chiming just as they had a moment ago.

"Albus, did you do that?" Minerva asked hesitantly, glancing back and forth between the strange blue lamp in front of them and Albus' still raised wand.

The headmaster shook his head, opening his mouth to reply before clacking it shut in shock when he noticed the floor around the lamp.

Or rather, what the floor was _doing_ that it just should _not_ be doing. For several feet around the base of the lamp, the solid stone floor of the great hall rippled like the water of a lake around a sapling. Dumbfounded by the sight, neither the Headmaster nor his deputy reacted for a moment, but then Albus' wand was moving. Swishing, flicking, and jabbing his way through every detection spell he knew, all of which returned answers that he could make neither heads nor tails of.

Enchantment detection charms told him that, yes, the lamp was enchanted. Enchantment identification charms told him that there was no such enchantment on the lamp. Spells meant to identify dangerous or dark magic returned seemingly random answers from one casting to the next. Baffled, but somewhat excited by the thrill of discovery, Albus redoubled his efforts to identify the lamp and whatever effects it might be having on the castle around it.

But then, before he could finish his battery of investigative magic, something began to rise out of the rippling floor around the lamp. Albus' litany of spells stopped short as his wand arm sagged in utter disbelief at what he was seeing.

It made no sound as it rose, though it soon became clear that it was actually a he. A he that wore a wide brimmed leather hat, and attire that vaguely reminded Albus of the style of his youth; a long dark overcoat with a tattered cape that fell out of style many years before, the interior of the coat lined with red silk, all worn on top of a rather nice, if rumpled and bloodstained, set of a vest, shirt, and pants. The man rose up from the floor in a kneeling position, facing towards the lamp, head bowed as if in prayer, but with his arms hung limply by his sides.

When the man had risen fully, Albus expected the floor to stop rippling so that he would be able to stand on it, and yet the floor continued to ripple around the base of the lamp. The ripples even reacted to the mysterious man's knees where he touched the ground!

All of this was taken in by Albus' keen mind before the figure could move to stand. What manner of magic was this? How did this man manage to subvert the Hogwarts wards in such a way that the headmaster did not notice the intrusion earlier? But, yet again, Albus found himself mostly concerned with the _who_ in this situation. After all, who would have the knowledge and power necessary to accomplish this? This was magic the headmaster had never seen before.

The man stayed kneeling for only moment before rising sinuously to his feet, tilting his head to one side and then the other with an audible crack. The headmaster took note that, while only average in height, the man seemed to be fairly well built.

"Good morning sir," the headmaster started, the man whirling around to face him, his coattails flapping out behind him from the speed of his turn, wide green eyes locking onto his own from behind round glasses. The headmaster stopped short. He recognized those eyes, dare he say that anyone in the magical world would recognize eyes like those! Lily's eyes. Despite the lower half of the man's face being wrapped in some sort of leather scarf, Albus was sure he knew who this was.

"Harry?" the headmaster asked cautiously. "Is that you my boy?" Beside him, Minerva's expression of undiluted shock (which hadn't changed since the man began rising from the floor) turned into a suspicious glare.

"Headmaster," came the slightly muffled voice of Harry Potter from the now identified strange man. "It's over." He said quietly, and then again, the words taking on an almost manic quality as young Harry chuckled darkly. "It's over! The nightmare is finally over! I'm home!"

"What nightmare Harry? Where did you go?" The headmaster asked calmly while motioning for Minerva to hold her peace for the moment. Nothing about this felt right to him.

But Harry shook his head almost frantically; his eyes wide and panic beginning to creep into his voice. "You don't want to know professor! The things I've seen can't be unseen, can't be unlearned, and I'll not put that burden on anyone else if I can help it, no no nononono!"

"Harry, my boy," Albus reached out a hand to comfort the lad, but he recoiled almost violently, leaping back faster than Albus would've expected him capable of to maintain the distance. The headmaster let his arm drop and naked concern leak into his voice. "Harry?"

Harry closed his eyes for a long moment, taking a deep breath, seemingly recentering himself, before opening them at the same time as he pulled down his face covering. He was pale as a ghost and looked like he hadn't shaved in several days.

"S-sorry professor. I, well I've had a rough night." Then his eyes flicked over the headmasters shoulder and widened terribly. With a glance, Albus confirmed his suspicions when he saw that everyone in the great hall was staring at them. Harry would most assuredly not appreciate this kind of attention, especially on the back of what had happened last night with the Goblet and … whatever it is that happened between then and now.

"Harry, why don't we take this discussion to my office?" Harry looked at him and nodded almost frantically. "Then follow me, my boy." The headmaster turned and made his way around the head table, Harry and Minerva hot on his heels, one after the other.

Hermione sat at the end of the Gryffindor table nearest the doors, her Ancient Runes textbook open on her left with a bowl of porridge on her right that she absently ate as she read.

She was trying to distract herself from the _utter disaster_ that had happened the night before. Not Ron being a prat, that wasn't anywhere near as important as the fact that _someone was likely trying to kill Harry_. Again. She couldn't help but sigh at the thought. He really was cursed with the worst of luck, wasn't he? Well, hopefully the Ministry would pull through on all the propaganda they put in that rag of theirs and actually make this tournament safe for once.

She sighed again and shook her head. Like that was ever going to happen! If there was one thing she'd learned the previous year it was that the Ministry was grossly incompetent at the very least. Even ignoring the whole Sirius Black debacle, they still authorized a young girl to use a time turner just so she could take more classes.

In retrospect, Hermione could acknowledge that bending the very fabric of space and time just so she could take classes she didn't even need was rather … well, a bit much. Not that she would _ever_ admit such a thing to either of her friends. They would never let her live it down if she did! Ron especially would be just awful about the whole thing, though she could see Harry just poking fun at her about it every once in a while …

Maybe she _would_ tell Harry … Once she got Ron to get his head out of his arse and realize that there was no way Harry would both enter this tournament illegally _and_ not tell them about it before hand. Honestly! There's not an ounce of logic or sense to what Ron is thinking right now. If she can just get him to see sense for just a moment-

A sudden shout from the staff table jerked Hermione out of her thoughts, as well as the gaze of the girl herself and everyone else in the hall to the staff table. She frowned in confusion at what she saw. The headmaster and Professor McGonagall were talking to a rather strangely dressed wizard behind the head table, and if Hermione wasn't mistaken they were trying to comfort him.

How odd.

Curiosity was something that Hermione had in spades, and once stoked it didn't stop burning until it had consumed everything it sought after. So she watched the unfolding drama at the staff table with rapt attention, all the while mindlessly eating more of her now cold porridge.

Just as she was taking a bite, the odd man lowered his scarf and she nearly choked on her spoon she swallowed so hard.

"Harry!?" She managed to gasp out once she got the bite of porridge down and the spoon back up. With wide eyes she watched as the headmaster gestured, and the three made their way around the staff table and towards the doors to the great hall.

What was going on?!

She couldn't read the headmasters expression, Professor McGonagall seemed confused if one could look passed her stern exterior, and Harry …

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. He was deathly pale, but there was something in his eyes. Relief, she thought. He looked relieved, too relieved actually. He looked like a great weight had been lifted from him, or like some great trial had been passed. He looked like he did in the hospital wing at the end of first year, right after nearly _dying_ to save the Philosophers Stone.

Something was wrong. Something was _very_ wrong.

Hermione gathered her books as quickly as she could before racing to intercept her friend before he could leave the hall.

"Harry! What's going on?" She called out when she had rounded the end of the table nearest the door.

Harry lurched to a stop, his head whipping towards her so fast she was afraid he might have broken something. For the barest of moments Hermione was afraid that Harry was upset with her, but then his expression lit up like a child's on Christmas morning.

"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said. "Now is not the time to-" She was cut off as Harry covered the distance between himself and Hermione in a dash. The next thing Hermione knew she was being crushed to Harry's chest in what had to be the first hug that he had ever initiated between them. If _Harry_ is initiating then something truly _awful_ must have happened! Not knowing what else to do, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him just as tightly as he did her.

"Hermione," the word was whispered, reverently, almost like a prayer, into her hair as she absently noted that Harry seemed taller now. How had she not noticed that before? They'd been at school for two months now!

"Harry, what's wrong?" She whispered back to him. Then she took a breath, and was assaulted with an absolutely _revolting_ stench. She couldn't quite place the smell, but as she looked at what little of him she could see with her face pressed into his collarbone she noticed the sheer _volume_ of bloodstains on him. He was almost completely covered in them! Not one of them looked fresh, and he certainly felt dry, but that might still explain the smell. She shuddered at the thought.

"Harry! You're covered in bloodstains and you _reek_! What happened?! Are you hurt? Where did you get these clothes? Where did all this blood _come from?_ " She got all this out in one rushed breath, and felt more than heard Harry's responding chuckle.

"Hermione, I…" Harry pulled back, holding Hermione at arms length, his eyes boring into hers, almost glowing in their intensity, like he was looking for something within her. She stared right back, her concern showing plainly in her expression, and an argument ready on the tip of her tongue should he try and _not_ explain this all to her. After a moment, Harry found whatever it was he was looking for, and his expression fell.

"You won't drop this." He stated in the most exhausted voice Hermione had ever heard from him before. Hermione shook her head even though she knew it wasn't a question. With a sigh, Harry said "Fine. C'mon then, we're going to the Headmasters Office."

His hands dropped from her shoulders as he turned to make his way out of the great hall, Hermione rushing to keep pace at his side. Professor Dumbledore gave her a fleeting smile before preceding them out, while Professor McGonagall brought up the rear.

Hermione kept glancing at her friend the whole way to the Headmaster's office, and each time she found him staring into the middle distance, lost in thought, and so she resolved to let the silence stretch to give him time to gather his thoughts.

In the Headmaster's office, Professor Dumbledore took his seat behind his desk while Professor McGonagall conjured a rather Spartan seat for herself that looked far less comfortable than the overly squishy ones the Headmaster was fond of conjuring for his guests.

Professor Dumbledore gestured to the two available seats before his desk. "Please, have a seat." Harry collapsed into the middle seat while Hermione took the one to his left. "You look tired, my boy, care for a lemon drop?" Harry stared silently at the bowl of hard candies for an uncomfortably long moment, before reaching out a gloved hand, which, Hermione noted, was _also_ spotted with blood stains, to take one of the candies and pop it in his mouth.

With a great crunch that made Hermione wince he immediately bit down into the lemon drop, chewed it up, and swallowed it.

"Harry?" She asked in a small, concerned voice. He looked to her pensively from under the brim of his bloodied hat. "I can tell that something is wrong Harry. What is it? What happened?" He winced at that and looked away, eyes cast down to the floor. In shame, or fear, or embarrassment, Hermione couldn't quite tell, but he made no move to answer her question one way or the other.

"Does this have anything to do with your name coming out of the Goblet of Fire last night?" She asked, hoping to at least get an _idea_ of what was going on. To her complete surprise, and the shock of the other two present, Harry started laughing uproariously at that. Great, belly shaking laughter exploded out of him for several moments.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Really Harry! I don't think this is a laughing matter! You're covered in blood and I don't-" Harry's laughter suddenly shifted into outright sobbing as he hunched over into himself, cradling his face in his hands.

Eyes round with shock and self recrimination, how could she have just snapped at her friend like that when he's obviously been through _some_ sort of ordeal!? Hermione leapt from her chair to wrap Harry in her arms, tossing his hat aside before cradling his head against her chest, babbling apologies all the way.

"Oh, Harry! I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have snapped at you like that, it wasn't right when you've so obviously been through _some-_ " Harry's arms snapped around her with such suddenness and strength that it knocked the rest of her breath from her before she could finish. But, his own voice replaced hers, gasping through his sobs.

"A Nightmare! It, it- full of blood and beasts, that cursed city on the night of the Hunt! 'A hunter must hunt!' And so I did and- heavens above, the blood, I can still hear it calling to me, can still taste it, can still-" He descended deeper into tears, while Hermione shushed and whispered to him that everything was alright, her hand running through his greasy, knotted hair, idly noting that he desperately needed a shower.

It could wait until after he was done hurting. But, she could make no sense of what he was saying. Harry had had nightmares in the past, certainly, but none like what he was describing, and a bloody _nightmare_ wouldn't explain the clothes, or the blood that she was only just now noticing was also _dried into his hair_! He must have been soaked in blood at some point! Dear God what happened?

She looked to her professors, but neither of them seemed to have any better idea of what he was talking about than she did. Wonderful. On their own again.

Harry's crying cut off mid sob, and when Hermione looked back to him she found his face not even an inch away from her own, his bloodshot eyes staring unerringly into her own while a manic smile that showed _far_ too many teeth stretched his lips.

"But _she_ was there and _she_ reminded me so much of _you_ ," His voice was a barely there whisper, reverently stroking every word he spoke, that contrasted harshly with the mania in his eyes, and it set Hermione's blood racing through her veins and her heart pounding in her chest. "So curious, so strong, always twelve step ahead of me." He paused, a hand coming up to cup Hermione's cheek, a gloved thumb idly stroking circles on her skin as emerald eyes darted to her lips and back. "So beautiful it hurts."

She flushed crimson even as her mouth ran away before her brain had a chance to catch up.

"Harry, I-I what? Who are you talking about?"

" _You._ " His thumb brushed over her lower lip and she drew in a quick breath at the sensation. " _Her._ " His eyes locked onto her lips and refused to budge this time. " _She_ is gone, but I have no intention of losing _you_ too." Hermione's confusion only had a chance to blossom for a moment before being violently smothered as Harry's hand tangled in her hair and his lips descended on her own.

Her eyes fluttered closed of their own accord.

Her hands clenched in his bloodied hair, pulling him closer, harder against her.

Distantly, she was aware of McGonagall's shocked gasping of their names, but it didn't really register.

He devoured her, kissing her with such wild abandon that even Hermione's highly ordered and prioritized mind completely blanked out and she lost herself in the sensation of his lips against her own. He nipped her lip, making her gasp, and then his tongue was there, dancing with her own, and the iron tang of blood was on her tongue, and-

The two were flung apart, Harry's upper body slamming into the back of the chair he sat in while Hermione fell to the floor in front of him.

"Really, Mr. Potter! That is hardly the behavior I would expect from you!" Professor McGonagall's irate voice sounded from where the elderly witch sat primly, her wand in her hand and a disapproving expression on her face.

The Headmaster merely chuckled from behind his desk.

Hermione's face flamed, eyes downcast, and she opened her mouth to apologize when Harry growled, actually _growled_ at Professor McGonagall! She shot a look up at him and gasped. He was glaring balefully at the professor, teeth that had no right being as sharp as they looked bared in a very real snarl.

"Mr. Potter?" Professor McGonagall said warily. Harry narrowed his eyes at her and snarled again, making her flinch and raise her wand to him.

"Harry?" Hermione asked gently. He flicked his eyes to her and back to the professor so quick she almost missed it. "Harry." She said again, taking a sterner tone of voice. He looked longer that time, but his growl didn't let up, and he looked ready to pounce at the professor any second. "Harry!" She said forcefully, and this time he turned his whole head back to her, letting the snarl slip from his face though his eyes seemed oddly unfocused.

"Harry, you need to calm down." He blinked, focusing on her after a moment as she kept speaking. "You seemed about ready to attack a professor Harry. Now, if it was Professor Snape than I'd be able to understand, but you _like_ Professor McGonagall!"

Harry jerked in his seat, glancing wide-eyed back and forth between Hermione and their professor several times before reaching a shaking hand into a small satchel on the bandolier running across his chest.

"Harry, what are you-" Hermione cut herself off when she saw the dirty vial of milky white potion he pulled from the satchel, unstoppered, and downed without a moment's hesitation. "What did you just take?" She asked instead as she climbed to her feet. "I don't recognize that potion."

"Neither did I, Miss Granger." The Headmaster said behind her. The professor made a sound of agreement.

Harry shivered once, blinked twice, and let out a relieved breath. "S-sorry. Sedative." He ran a hand through his hair while Hermione just raised an eyebrow at him in question. "Was building myself up into a frenzy there, damn near lost it." He looked up at her with an expression Hermione didn't quite know what to make of, like he was grateful but confused at the same time.

"Thanks for snapping me out of it 'Mione. Never heard of such a thing happening before." Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

"Are you alright now Harry?" She laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly and without thought. Harry covered her hand with his own, squeezing her back with a shaky smile.

"Wouldn't say I'm alright, but I'm better. Was in a right sort, wasn't I? Sedative really helped." Hermione tilted her head questioningly, but the Headmaster beat her to it.

"What kind of sedative was that, Harry?" Hermione moved to sit back in her chair, and as her hand slid off of Harry he tangled their fingers together so that their hands dangled in the space between their chairs. She shot him a curious look, but he wasn't looking at her and didn't seem to realize what he had done, so she just pursed her lips briefly and went with it.

If it made him feel better then she wasn't going to ask questions. At the moment anyway.

"Harry?" The Headmaster prodded gently after Harry had been silent a moment too long, breaking him out of whatever reverie he had fallen into.

"Oh. Right, the sedative. It's the kind you find in Byrgenwerth. Don't rightly know what it's made of, don't really _want_ to know to be honest with you. Just know that it works." Harry finished with a shrug so typical for him that it made Hermione smile.

"Byrgenwerth?" The Headmaster asked with a curious twinkle in his eye. "I've never heard of such a place."

Harry nodded. "I'm not surprised. Famous as they were, they fell to the wayside when Laurence split off and founded the Healing Church in Yharnam." The Headmaster straightened in his seat with a thoughtful frown.

"Professor?" Hermione questioned, having noticed his reaction. "Does Yharnam sound familiar to you?" Harry glanced at her, squeezing her hand as if to say 'good job' before returning his attention to the Headmaster.

"Yes, yes," Dumbledore said. "I read about that island nation once, long ago. Used to be quite the powerhouse in its day if I remember correctly, right up until the whole island just up and disappeared in the late 1860's."

"Disappeared? How does an entire island disappear?" Hermione asked, bemused.

"Taken by the dream." Harry muttered next to her, her eyes shooting over to look at him questioningly, but he was staring at nothing, lost in thought. The Headmaster, having not heard him, answered Hermione's question.

"No one is quite sure. It was an entirely muggle nation, you see. No magical population to speak of. It was there one day, gone the next. There are plenty of theories, of course, from the whole island being put under the Fidelius, to it being swallowed up by the sea much like Atlantis was, but other than the lack of a Yharnam where once one stood, there is no evidence one way or the other for any of the theories."

"Harry?" Hermione gave his hand a squeeze to get his attention. He "hmm'd" and turned unfocused eyes to her. "What did you just say? Something about Yharnam being 'taken by the _dream?_ '"

Both the professors looked at him curiously at this, and Harry replied in a toneless, far away voice.

"Atonement for the wretches, by the wrath of Mother Kos. Lay the curse of blood upon them, and their children, and their children's children forevermore. A bottomless curse. A bottomless sea. Source of all greatness, of all things that be." And he lapsed again into silence, lost in his own thoughts.

"Harry?" Hermione squeezed his hand again. "Harry?" But he remained silent and unseeing, his hand hanging limply in her own. "Harry, what did that mean?"

"Mr. Potter?" Professor McGonagall reached out a hand to him, perhaps intending to shake him gently to get his attention, but her hand never reached him. Harry's free hand snapped out, catching her wrist in a vice grip. "Mr. Potter!" His head snapped to her, and though Hermione couldn't see his expression from where she was, she did see the professor's face go ashen, though her stern exterior never wavered.

Harry shunted the professor's arm aside and leapt to his feet, ripping his hand free of Hermione's in the process.

"You don't know! You can't know! You don't _want_ to know!" Desperation dripped from his voice while he swung suddenly and randomly round and round on the spot, touching each of them with his gaze but never lingering on one for more than a moment. "The Church and its Choir, Byrgenwerth even! Summoned things beyond our ken! They communed with the Cosmos itself and all of Yharnam _burned_ for it! They brought the scourge of beasts down on themselves in their madness and drowned in blood for all their toils!"

"Harry, my boy, calm yourself." The headmaster said calmly but with a hint of steel, his wand having found its way into his hand at some point. Harry whirled on him, advancing on the desk and slamming his hands down on it. Hermione could only watch in wide eyed shock as Harry continued to rant about things that made no sense, now leaning down to get right in the headmaster's face. They had no _context_ and without that nothing Harry was saying was helping anything.

"Mergo's cries heralded the Nightmare of Mensis. Taken by the Nightmare of blood and beasts the city was _lost!_ " He slammed a fist down on the headmasters desk. " _She_ wanted to make sense of it, but I knew! I _knew_ , professor! Knowledge does not come without cost, and the truest insights bring about only _madness!_ " His shoulders slumped without warning, and the fight seemed to just fall away from him. He stumbled back from the desk and collapsed into his seat before continuing in a small voice.

"I tried to stop her. She wouldn't listen. Stubborn like that, like _you_." Here he shot Hermione a look equal parts exasperated and fond. "The Nightmare took her. I think." He sighed despondently. "By the end nothing she said made any sense. It was almost like she wasn't even talking to _me_ , but someone standing behind me."

"Who are you talking about Harry? Who is this girl from your nightmare?" Hermione asked as gently as she could manage, unable to keep her curiosity bottled up but not wanting to set Harry off again.

Harry looked to her sharply. "It wasn't _my_ Nightmare, 'Mione. They brought it down on themselves! I just got sucked into it." She raised her hands in supplication, whispering a quick apology. Harry sighed and looked to his hands, continuing wistfully. "Evelyn. Her name was Evelyn. A hunter, like me. Taught me how to survive. Showed me how to hunt. I wouldn't have made it out of the Dream without her help. She gave me this," He reached into his coat, "To remember her by." And pulled out an intricately decorated flintlock pistol that had to be as long as his forearm.

"How did you manage to fit that into your coat?" Hermione asked incredulously. "It's far too long!"

He just shrugged at her and said, "Magic," With a sly smile. Hermione rolled her eyes though she couldn't completely suppress her smile. "You should see what else I have hidden in my pockets!" He said with a wry chuckle as he returned the pistol to wherever it is he managed to hide it.

"Harry," The headmaster spoke up. "You say you were sucked into the nightmare. Can you explain what you mean?"

Harry shook his head. "Not one bit professor. I have no better idea of how I got to Yharnam than any of the other's did."

"Others?" Professor McGonagall asked with a furrowed brow.

"The other hunters." Harry said plainly. "Some of them were born in Yharnam, but not all, and the outsiders like me had no idea how they came to that cursed place."

"Just what is a hunter, Harry?" The headmaster asked from behind his steepled fingers.

"A once-kept secret of the Church. They walked among the people and cut out any infection they came across to keep the scourge from spreading. It was the hunters that burned Old Yharnam to the ground based on a lie." Hermione looked aghast at that, while Dumbledore merely frowned in thought.

Harry continued before either could voice a question. "But even that was only the lowest level of a hunter's duty. We were meant to grow beyond that, to reach for higher places and hunt greater prey than the beasts that roamed the streets. The Moon Presence wanted the blood of its kin, it wanted the death of an infant Great One."

Hermione blurted out, "An _infant_!? What kind of person would want to murder an infant?"

"Person?" Harry asked bemusedly, looking at her like she had just sprouted a second head that spoke exclusively in nonsense. "The Moon Presence was no person. It was a, a _thing_ with thoughts and reasons beyond our own. I don't know why it wanted the infant Mergo to die. I only know that if it got what it wanted the Nightmare would end." Hermione felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. He's not about to say what she thinks he is, is he? Harry wouldn't murder an infant, whether it was human or not! It's just not right!

"So Evelyn and I delivered. I was freed from the Dream, but I have no idea what happened to Evelyn."

"Harry!" Hermione's reproving tone caught Harry off guard. "How _could_ you? Murdering an infant! That, that's just _wrong_! Human or not!" But Harry was shaking his head before she could finish, and when she did his voice lashed out angrily.

"You _don't know_ what it was _like_! Nightmare doesn't even _begin_ to describe what we went through! The things I've seen? That I've _done_? I don't have the words to even _try_ to make you understand!"

"Then perhaps you should show us then." The headmaster said, bringing the attention of everyone else in the room towards him.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked warily. In response, the headmaster stood and moved to a nearby cabinet with a slight blue glow emanating from within.

"I mean, my boy," he said as he carried a small stone basin over to his desk and set it down. The basin glowed with runes and was filled with a strange silvery liquid. "That we should use my pensieve so that you can show us what you went through last night." He finished with an encouraging smile even as Harry tensed up in his seat.

Hermione noticed. "Harry, this would really be the easiest way. You said yourself that you don't know how to tell us what happened, and asking questions blindly has gotten us nothing but confused, so please, please just show us what happened in the Nightmare."

His shoulders drooped and he looked at Hermione, defeat written on his face. "You won't like what you see, any of you." He said quietly. Hermione reached out and took his hand in her own, giving him a reassuring smile.

"We have to know if we're going to help you move passed it, Harry." He looked into her eyes for a long moment before nodding once.

"You and the headmaster can see, but Professor McGonagall can't." He glanced at her affronted expression. "She won't be able to handle it, I'm sure."

Her expression turned thunderous. "Now see here Mr. Potter!" Only to be cut off by the calm words of the headmaster.

"Minerva." She turned to him, ready to argue. "These are his memories Minerva, and he has the right to choose who can view them. We must respect our students' privacy, even in matters such as this." She pursed her lips but didn't argue.

"Now, my boy, do you know how to retrieve memories to put in the pensieve?" Harry looked to the pensieve and tilted his head, smiling a confused smile.

"Now what are you little ones doing here?" He said to the pensieve, reaching out to pet the air just above it. Dumbledore's brow furrowed, while Hermione looked worryingly between Harry and the empty air he was stroking affectionately.

"Harry," she started hesitantly. "There's nothing there."

He shot her a surprised look. "You can't see them?" She shook her head, her concern for her friend growing. Harry looked around at the others present. "None of you can?" They all shook their heads at him.

"What do you see Harry?" The headmaster asked. Hermione shot him an incredulous look. Here was her friend, _hallucinating_ of all things, and the headmaster was _humoring_ him?

"You will see soon enough, and once you do you will never _not_ see it. Once you know you can never forget, no matter how hard you try." She looked back to her friend and found him staring at her with haunted eyes. "Knowledge is a curse that cannot be cured, and one that is always self-inflicted." Hermione reared back as if she'd been slapped. He continued, whispering now, his words meant only for her. "I know that I can't stop you, just as I couldn't stop Evelyn. Please, _please_ know when to stop."

Hermione could only nod, words having momentarily escaped her. Harry took a deep breath and turned back to the headmaster.

"No, I don't know how. Show me." Professor Dumbledore obliged, lifting his wand to his temple.

"Now, you must focus on the memory you wish to retrieve, bring it to the forefront of your mind, and then it is a simple matter to pull it out." He did so, pulling a silvery whisp from his temple for a moment, before quickly depositing it back into his own head. Harry nodded and rooted around in his coat pockets for a few moments before producing his holly wand and …

Fiddling with it for several long moments.

"Harry? What is it?" Hermione asked, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

He sighed. "I don't know where to start, or even …" and he trailed off into silence.

"The beginning is usually a good place, my boy." The headmaster chimed in.

"Right, yeah, the beginning." Harry muttered before reaching up and almost yanking a memory out of his head and tossing it into the pensieve. "That, well that might explain a bit. I think. It was the first time Evelyn and I had to face a hunter drunk with blood."

Hermione and the headmaster exchanged a look at that, and mutually decided to save their questions for afterwards.

"Harry," The headmaster said, "Will you be joining us?"

Harry looked stricken for a moment before his expression steeled, and he nodded firmly.

The headmaster nodded back. "Very well then. Simply reach out a finger and dip it in the liquid of the memory. Shall we?" With that, the three did as the headmaster told them and were taken into Harry's memory.

They were deposited onto a cobblestone street, a short wrought iron fence on one side before a great chasm. On the far side of the chasm they could see the skyline of a great Victorian city, and on the side opposite the chasm the street was lined with brick tenement housing. The horizon glowed with the reds and oranges of an imminent sunset. The city was eerily quiet, the only thing that could be heard being the distant sound of shouts and the faint echoing howls of some unseen creature.

And all around them was chaos. Bodies lined the street behind them, one of which Hermione noticed was the same size as Hagrid, but all of the rest were proportioned wrong: arms and legs too long for their torsos, their pants and sleeves having ridden up to reveal furry bodies underneath. Their faces retained little of their human appearance, caught somewhere between wolf and man.

Was this what Harry had meant when he mentioned a beastly scourge? Was that what killed these people?

"You! Are not wanted 'ere!" The shout came from up ahead, where three of the Beast men were fighting two normal sized figures. One was obviously female, wearing a long, dark leather coat that reached her ankles and wrapped almost completely around her legs, with a slit in front of one leg for mobility's sake, Hermione supposed. She wore no hat, and her long blonde hair was held back in a loose tail at the top of her head.

The Beast man that had shouted at her dove forward, a meat cleaver held aloft, awkwardly swiping this way and that at her, but the woman calmly and swiftly ducked and dodged around every swipe, sometimes merely leaning slightly to one side or the other and letting the blade come within a hair's breadth of her, until the Beast man tired and ceased his onslaught.

The moment the attacks stopped she was on the offensive, raising what looked like a simple cane and elegantly driving it across the Beast man once, twice, three times, and a fourth right across his malformed jaw, sending his head spinning with a sharp crack and a spurt of blood that the woman seemed to step into rather than out of the way of. The Beast man's body collapsed at her feet and didn't as much as twitch again.

Meanwhile, a second Beast man, armed with a pitchfork, had charged at the male figure with an animalistic cry of rage. The man, which Hermione knew had to be Harry, although he was dressed in a much less tattered grey leather coat with a tricorn hat in the memory, quickly sidestepped, bringing a massive saw toothed cleaver to bear in the same motion, lashing out across the Beast man's chest and sending a shower of blood all over himself and the street.

His opponent staggered, and Memory Harry pressed on, with a return slash and then one last horizontal swipe he tore the Beast man's throat open, dousing himself, head to toe, in his opponent's blood as his body slumped over, dead.

"My God," Hermione whispered, wide eyed, her hands covering her mouth in horror at what she was seeing. She looked to where the sun hadn't quite dipped beyond the horizon yet, and couldn't help but think that if _this_ is what Harry had been doing all night, then it was no wonder that her friend was such a mess!

"This is what Hunters do." Harry said next to her, watching the scene in front of him dispassionately. "This is The Hunt." This last was said with some distaste, the same way one would talk about a chore that they greatly dislike but know needs to be done. Hermione looked at him, aghast that he could be so cold about this, this, this _slaughter_! These people were sick and they were killing them! All the bodies in the street behind them, they must have … Harry must have been the one that killed them.

The thought of her friend doing such a thing made Hermione sick to her stomach. Not out of fear or even disgust really, but mostly out of concern for Harry. She knew him, and he wouldn't do such a thing unless he felt like he had no choice in the matter. It must weigh heavily on him, she knew.

Only one Beast man remained, cowering in the corner, armed only with a makeshift shield crafted from four two-by-fours nailed together.

"Away! Away!" He shouted as Memory Harry and the woman advanced on him. Memory Harry paused, tilting his head questioningly, but the woman didn't break stride. With a flick of her wrist her cane broke apart, segmenting into a series of small blades held together by a thin cord.

The Beast man's eyes widened terribly. "Help me! Oh God!" His desperate shout roused Memory Harry, and he looked towards his female compatriot.

"Evelyn," Memory Harry said, "Perhaps we ought to just leave him be?" Evelyn shook her head, but otherwise ignored Memory Harry, raising her weapon and slashing at the desperate Beast man twice in quick succession, his shield being thrown from his grip on the second hit. A third wrapped around his throat, and with a quick yank on Evelyn's part, his head was divested of his body to roll across the street.

 _This_ was the woman that reminded Harry of her!? She would have never done anything like that! Executing a sick man as he begged for mercy was just utterly deplorable! What was Harry thinking comparing the two of them?!

"Harry," Evelyn said tiredly, turning to spear Memory Harry with the deepest, brightest blue eyes Hermione had ever seen in her life. With a flick of her wrist her segmented whip reformed into a cane. She brought a cloth up to wipe her face of the blood that had gotten on her during the fight before returning the cloth to a coat pocket. She barely made a dent in the blood caked to her face.

"Harry," She said again, her voice low and clear, each word carefully enunciated. "We've talked about this! They aren't people anymore; they're nothing but flesh hungry beasts now." Memory Harry sighed, pulling out a handkerchief as he stepped up to her.

"I know," he said as he wiped away the blood she had missed. "I know. I just," he paused, head tilted as he looked at her. "I just wish they couldn't talk, ya know? It's hard sometimes, having to kill something that's begging for mercy."

"They might beg like men, but they'll attack like dogs once your back is turned." Evelyn said with the conviction of one with experience.

"Are you sure there isn't some cure for them?" Memory Harry asked, and Hermione smiled, glad to know that, at least in the beginning, Harry cared enough to try and help them rather than slaughter them.

Evelyn shook her head. "I'm sure. Once Beasthood sets in they are irretrievable. The only cure for them is an honest death."

"Can the same happen to us? To Hunters?" Memory Harry asked in a small voice as he put his handkerchief away, Evelyn's face relatively clear of blood now.

"Do you feel the call of the blood, Harry?" She returned, staring into his eyes in the same intense way Harry had looked into Hermione's in Dumbledore's office.

"I do. It sings to me." Memory Harry said in quiet shame. "Evelyn, I'm scared. I don't want to become like," He looked to the disproportioned bodies of the Beast men around them, " _them._ " Evelyn grasped him by the shoulders.

"Don't be afraid, Harry, I feel it too." She smiled gently at him. "We just have to be strong and not let the blood overcome our senses. Can you do that Harry? Can you be strong for me?" Harry nodded solemnly. "Good man! Now c'mon, Cathedral Ward is just up ahead, past the graveyard." She motioned towards a set of staircases in the direction they'd been moving in before the memory started, if the trail of corpses was anything to go off of.

Hermione looked back at the multitude of malformed corpses the two hunters had left in their wake, a pensive expression on her face. So, Harry and this Evelyn woman were sick as well. They just hadn't been taken by the disease yet. It must be a magical disease, there was nothing in the muggle world that even came close to the kind of physical changes these Beast men had undergone. Was it some mutated strand of lycanthropy that had spread through the city?

Evelyn said that they had to be strong. So, the disease could be overcome, or at least delayed, by sheer force of will? If that's the case then it's no wonder that Harry hasn't succumbed yet.

She turned back to Evelyn, boring holes into her back with her eyes. Is that what Harry meant when he said he lost her to the nightmare? Did she succumb to the disease? Or was she simply killed in a fight gone wrong?

Either way, she was still going to make damn sure that he went to the hospital wing as soon as this memory was over, and nothing he could say or do would stop her.

They started forward, but Evelyn stopped short in the middle of the stairs, turning around to survey the battlefield behind them with narrowed eyes. Hermione shivered as those bright blue eyes passed right over her.

"What is it?" Memory Harry asked, turning to see why she stopped.

"Nothing," she replied, "Felt eyes on my back is all. Let's go."

At the top of the stairs Memory Harry stopped again, looking down at his feet. "Oh! Hello little ones. Have you got a message for us?" He asked, a smile evident in his voice. Hermione stepped around Evelyn to get a better look, and there, at Memory Harry's feet, were a half dozen tiny, grey people who would be no more than two feet tall if they weren't sunken halfway into the floor which rippled oddly around them. They vaguely reminded Hermione of house elves, if a bit smaller. Curious, Hermione stepped closer, bending down to get a good look at them only to suck in a shocked breath when she got a good look at their faces.

Or rather: their complete lack of a face. The little beings had no discernible eyes, merely empty folds in their skin where eyes were supposed to be. They turned these empty folds to Memory Harry and flapped similarly empty folds where a mouth would normally go, and some of them didn't even have that right: with the mouth fold running up from the chin and between the eyes.

The little ones reached down between them, pulling up a roll of parchment that glowed with some form of magic. Unfurling it across their upraised hands, the revealed writing was, to Hermione, an unreadable jumble of runes, some familiar but many completely foreign to her.

Memory Harry glanced shortly at the message before saying to Evelyn, "'Beware of Hunter' is what it says."

She frowned unhappily at that, stepping closer to see for herself, and, in the process, stepping right through Hermione. A violent shiver ran through the bushy-haired girl as she scrambled to her feet and away from the blonde Huntress and right into someone else.

"Miss Granger, are you alright?" Professor Dumbledore's question made her jump, head snapping up to look at the elderly wizard.

"Professor!" She exclaimed. "I'm sorry, you've been so quiet I forgot you were here." Harry chuckled at her reaction from where he stood next to his memory self, who was oddly shorter than him, but she resolved to figure _that_ out later.

Instead, she looked at their professor curiously, who guessed her upcoming question.

"I'm," He paused, looking around at the dark brick buildings around them and back at the bloodied corpses left in the two Hunters' wake. "Taking it all in. It's a bit hard to wrap my head around at the moment, I'm afraid."

Hermione knew exactly what the professor meant. Trying to compartmentalize and really understand everything that they had seen in the short time since the memory began would likely take hours and repeated viewings if this kept up.

She was emphatically _not_ looking forward to having to watch this again if she had to.

"Thank you, little ones." Memory Harry said as he patted one of them on the head. "You've brought us a fine note." They all did a little dance at that, seemingly pleased to have been of help to the two Hunters.

"Be ready for anything." Evelyn said to Memory Harry as he rose, and together they stepped through an archway and into a graveyard, Hermione and the headmaster on their heels while Harry had gone ahead, preceding his memory self in.

The graveyard was a large circular courtyard dotted with dead trees and clusters of tombstones. Penned in as it was by the high walls of the surrounding buildings; the waning light of the setting sun barely illuminated the space. Harry was bent over a seemingly random patch of dirt near the center of the graveyard, muttering to himself in a voice too low for anyone to make out. At the opposite end from where they had entered was a wide staircase, the only other exit that Hermione could see. Stood near the stairs was a rather large man with long white hair, dressed not dissimilarly to Memory Harry, although his darker outfit, and especially his rumpled black hat, vaguely reminded Hermione of missionaries from the Old American West. At his feet lay one of the Beast men, already broken and bleeding but still very much alive as it tried desperately to crawl away from the Hunter that stood above it.

Evelyn and Memory Harry stopped short when they noticed him, watching as the large man hefted an enormous one handed axe above his head before bringing it down with a dull _thud_ into the incapacitated Beast man's chest, the resulting arterial spray not making the Hunter flinch in the slightest. The man forcefully wrenched his weapon from the now very dead Beast man at his feet, and rose to his full height, what looked like a blunderbuss in his off hand.

"Beasts all over the shop," he spoke in a quiet brogue, head cocked as if listening intently to something. "You'll join them, sooner or later." And then he turned, revealing blood stained bandages wrapped around his eyes, baring too sharp teeth in a low snarl that eerily reminded Hermione of the sound Harry made after Professor McGonagall separated them during their heated and rather random kiss. Hermione blushed slightly as she remembered it, feeling heat start to rise in her core, but she furiously stomped the feeling down with a ruthlessness that would surprise no one. What an inappropriate time for _those_ kinds of thoughts!

"Father Gascoigne?" Memory Harry said tentatively, but the blind man ignored him, instead charging towards them at full tilt, his axe raised high, poised to strike.

Evelyn and Memory Harry looked at each for a moment before simultaneously bolting in opposite directions just as the mad Hunter's weapon fell where Memory Harry had been stood a moment before with a resounding clash.

Hermione 'eeped!' when the force of the blow sent a small dust cloud up around him.

Gascoigne whirled towards Memory Harry, dodging around the strike aimed for his back while simultaneously blasting him with his blunderbuss, sending Memory Harry recoiling back to his knees. The mad hunter swiftly reloaded before raising his axe, intent on taking advantage of Memory Harry's stunned state, but before he could Evelyn's whip lashed across his back, sending him reeling from the sudden shock of pain.

Gascoigne whirled again, just in time for Evelyn to score another strike, across his chest this time, but he ignored the pain and leapt for her, swinging his axe furiously as she danced around his powerful but slow blows with apparent ease.

Then Memory Harry was there, having apparently recovered from being shot point blank in the chest in just a few seconds, sprinting into Gascoigne and raking his serrated blade across his back over and over, doing unspeakable damage to the mad Hunter's coat and sending crimson arcs of blood flying in every direction. The handle of Gascoigne's axe extended and, taking it in both hands, he spun suddenly on the spot, bringing his blade around and into Memory Harry with a meaty _thunk_ that sent him flying into a nearby tombstone.

"Harry!" Hermione and Evelyn gasped at the same time. Hermione shot the huntress a look, seeing the same concern she felt reflected back in those deep blue eyes, despite her mouth being twisted into a hateful scowl that bordered on a primal showing of teeth.

Maybe there was a little they had in common after all, even if it _was_ just concern for Harry's wellbeing.

Harry, who was still examining that random patch of ground, didn't even look up as he said, "Yes 'Mione?" She looked at her friend, taking in that he was there, watching this memory, _his_ memory, with them, and very much alive, and the sudden spike of fear at seeing him wounded so brutally dulled into only-slightly-more-than-mild concern.

Gascoigne made to move towards Evelyn but lurched to a sudden stop, his head cocked back towards where Memory Harry sat in a slowly growing puddle of his own blood, shaking his head as if to clear it. "What's that smell?" The mad Hunter asked sharply, scenting the air much like a dog would. "The sweet blood, oh," He turned fully back to Memory Harry, who was watching him with wide eyes as he tried to claw his way back up to a standing position using the headstone for support. "It sings to me. It's enough to make a man sick."

The mad Hunter leapt once more into an overhead strike aimed to cleave Memory Harry in two, who could only raise his arms in a vain attempt to protect himself, but then Evelyn was there, the same pistol that Harry had shown them in the headmaster's office raised and fired point blank into Gascoigne's chest. The thoroughly bloodied Hunter jerked in mid-air before landing at Evelyn's feet and collapsing to one knee, a hand clasped to his newest wound.

Evelyn stalked forward, jabbing her cane into the ground by her feet before forcefully shoving her gloved hand passed Gascoigne's own and _into_ his new wound. Wrist deep in her prey's chest, she lifted him up to look him in his bandaged eyes before suddenly and harshly ripping her hand sideways and out of Gascoigne's chest in a great wave of crimson that coated both of them from head to toe. Gascoigne collapsed onto his back several feet away, moaning in pain, but made no move to get up.

Evelyn sniffed disdainfully at the downed man before turning on her heel, plucking her cane from the ground, and dashing to Memory Harry's side.

"Blood vial!" She barked at him as she steadied him on his feet. "Honestly Harry, did you _really_ forget about them?" Memory Harry grimaced and mumbled something back that Hermione couldn't make out it was so quiet. "Well don't let it happen again. I won't always be there to save you. You have to be able to take care of yourself." Memory Harry nodded, pulling a small hypodermic full of blood out of a pouch on his belt and unceremoniously jabbing it into his leg.

Okay, maybe they had more in common than just a concern for Harry's wellbeing.

To Hermione's complete astonishment, his wound immediately sealed up as if it had never been there to begin with. Evelyn looked him over once and, seemingly satisfied that he'd be able to stand on his own, stepped back to look at Gascoigne where he still lay, moaning in pain.

"He's lost to the blood." She said regretfully. "There's only one thing to be done for him now." Memory Harry said nothing, only nodding his head absently as he watched. Evelyn made her way back to Gascoigne, standing near the man's head and raising her cane to strike him across the jaw, a blow that would surely break his neck and end his suffering.

A blow that never landed.

As Evelyn swung her weapon, Gascoigne howled, exploding outwards in a cloud of dust and debris that threw Evelyn onto her back several yards away. She leapt to her feet while Memory Harry stared at the dust cloud with wide eyes. Before the dust could even begin to settle, a great beast, like a werewolf on steroids, wearing the tattered remains of Gascoigne's outfit came charging at him faster than anything Hermione had ever seen.

Clawed hands swung at Memory Harry in an animalistic furor, unrelenting in its ceaselessness as the massive beast that used to be a man continued advancing, forcing Memory Harry back with every swipe. Memory Harry ducked, dodged, and wove his way around and between what attacks he could, but he could not dodge them all, the occasional spurt of blood the only outwards sign that he had been struck. All the while, Evelyn followed, her whip biting into the back of the beast again and again, but it would not be deterred from its chosen prey and pursued him until his back was up to a wall.

Hermione gnawed on her lip in silent worry as she watched the memory of her friend be brutalized in such a fashion, unable to look away despite the horror of it all. And now with his back to a wall how was he going to get out of this alive?

No sooner had she had the thought then a gunshot rang out and the monster that Gascoigne had become fell to one knee at Memory Harry's feet. Just like Evelyn before him, he rammed his gloved hand into Gascoigne's chest as deep as he could, managing to reach in to his elbow, before tearing his hand back out sideways.

Unlike Evelyn, Harry's hand did not emerge empty. Instead, grasped there in his bloodied fist was Gascoigne's too large, but still beating heart.

The beast fell back from Memory Harry, howling plaintively for a moment before falling still and silent. Memory Harry stared down at what used to be a Hunter like himself, breathing heavily, for a heartbeat before saying to Evelyn, in an utterly lost voice, "What are we going to tell his daughter?"

The scene in front of them dissolved, and Hermione, Headmaster Dumbledore, and Harry were back in the Headmaster's office, standing over the pensieve.

And there, only an inch away from her face, waist deep in the silvery liquid of memory, was the face of one of the little ones.

 _Author's Note:_ It has been several years since I was active on this site, but the idea behind this story keeps clomping around in my head and taking up all of my focus, so here it is! I don't have any sort of set schedule as to when I will be writing the rest of this, so updates will be rather sporadic. That being said, I do have a damned good idea of the meat and bones of this story, and I even know how I want it to end! So odds are good that I will finish this one eventually. I will certainly try at the very least.

Reviews, whether they be a short 'loved it!' or a short essay on all the ways I completely failed, are always appreciated. Lemme know what you guys think, and I will do my best to reply to every review.


	2. Chapter 2

Albus Dumbledore had seen quite a lot in his long life.

He'd witnessed at least a dozen children being born. Watched as the parents' faces lit up, a love strong enough to defy anything and everything blossoming in their hearts as they held their little one in their arms for the first time. He's spent decades in Hogwarts, witnessed the many scores of children that have passed through its halls learn, grow, mature, and forge friendships that would stand the test of time. He's presided over a handful of weddings, issuing the vows that would bind a couple together forever in their mutual devotion to each other, and attended dozens more.

Unfortunately, the human experience has been, in his experience, filled with as much sorrow and heartache as it has been filled with love and joy.

For every birth he has seen, he knows three children that have lost at least one parent.

For every friendship forged in the halls of Hogwarts, there is a child that wanders alone, ignored or even bullied by their fellow students.

For every loving couple he has seen swear vows to each other, he has attended a funeral.

He's seen the horrors of a war the likes of which had not been seen before or since. He's walked the paths of Auschwitz, seen the gruesome experiments carried out there by wizards and muggles alike, all at the behest of a man that he once loved. It was there, faced with the truth of mankind's (not wizard, not muggle, but _human_ ) capability for monstrousness, that the hatred of muggles he had nursed since his father's imprisonment died a quiet death, passing from his being almost without him realizing it. It was there that he realized that you could not fight hate with hate, or destroy fear with fear, that trying to battle such an inferno with your own flame would only stoke them both, and in the end all would burn in the fires of hate and despair.

The angry, bitter, hate-filled young man that was Albus Dumbledore, the same one that had watched as the light left his dear sisters eyes and felt _relief_ in the deepest, darkest part of his heart, died that day and a new Albus Dumbledore took his place. But, the war was far from over, and Albus had not seen the end of the abyss.

He never spoke of the things he saw in Grindelwald's fortress. He very rarely even thought of it, and that was only on the nights when he awoke, shaking and in a cold sweat, from the nightmares that still haunted him even fifty years later.

Many called Voldemort the greatest dark wizard to ever live, but they did not know the depths that Gellert Grindelwald had sunk to in his madness. They did not see the piles of malformed corpses, or hear the wails of those that had not been lucky enough to die as they begged him, _begged him_ to kill them, to free them from a suffering he could not comprehend. They, who thought that the Great Albus Dumbledore held the sanctity of life above all else, did not know how many died by his wand that day. On that day he learned that there truly are some fates worse than death, that death could be a mercy for those whose suffering knows no end.

It was also the day that he denied such a mercy to a man he once loved.

And now, it would seem, he thought to himself as he looked at the messengers that had been waist deep in his pensieve since he returned from Grindelwald's fortress, that young Harry had gotten a glimpse into the same madness that took Grindelwald. That memory was only the beginning, he was sure. How much more could he have seen in a single night? What kind of horrors must he have seen?

Does he have any right to ask? Albus turned a concerned eye to Harry, in the chair he had collapsed into the moment the memory had ended. The lad looked frightfully exhausted, as if he stayed awake through sheer force of will alone. Albus remembered what kind of state he was in after defeating Grindelwald and, now that he thought of it, it reminded him, a sinking feeling in his gut, of the state Harry was in now.

He had no doubt that if it weren't for his close relationship with Miss Granger, coupled with her ferociously inquisitive nature, that Harry would not have opened up to them so soon. Albus wondered if it was a good thing for him to talk so soon or not. Pushing him before the wounds had even had a chance to _begin_ to heal might just make them worse.

It was a good thing Minerva had dismissed herself while they were in the memory. The fewer people pestering him about this Nightmare he had gone through, the better.

Albus pondered this as Hermione, who had been examining the messengers in curiosity after she got over the initial startle of something being there that wasn't before, turned to regard Harry with a concerned look.

"Harry." She said softly, tears glistening in her eyes. He looked up at her, a faint glimmer of hope shining through the exhaustion in his eyes. She stepped up to him, reaching out to tangle her fingers in his blood crusted hair and pulling him close to cradle his head against her stomach. His arms immediately wrapped around her waist, eagerly accepting the physical comfort she was offering.

This complete and eager acceptance of physical affection was so _unlike_ him. Had that Evelyn woman managed to break down the solid brick wall of personal space Harry had been so careful to maintain up until now?

"Harry," she started again, "That, what you just showed us, how much more is there?"

Harry shook his head where it pressed against her and said nothing. Hermione's brow furrowed and she started carding her fingers gently through his hair, avoiding or breaking up the clumps of dried blood she came across where she could.

"Who was that man that attacked you?" She tried again, only garnering an identical, if slightly more forceful, shake of the head in response.

"What are these things that brought you that message? And, what are they doing in Professor Dumbledore's pensieve?" Harry just kept shaking his head. Hermione frowned in confused concern at the top of Harry's head. Where was this sudden reticence coming from? He'd been answering all their questions before they watched that memory, albeit with things that ultimately made no sense to her, so what had changed?

"Harry," she said again, a hint of exasperation starting to leak into her tone. Harry stiffened noticeably, his head stilling completely at her change in tone.

"You have to talk to us if you want us to _help_ you-" Harry jerked back, pulling out of her grip and looking up at her with the most stricken expression she had ever seen on him.

"Miss Granger!" Hermione whipped around to meet the stern gaze of her headmaster.

"I think that is quite enough, Miss Granger. Now please, have a seat." He waved towards the chair on Harry's left and waited for her to comply before he continued.

"Harry, I feel I must apologize." Harry sat up straight in his chair, his attention riveted on the headmaster, surprised at the sudden turn in the conversation.

"I underestimated just what it was you must have gone through last night," the headmaster continued, the weight of true remorse weighing his words and shoulders down. "Had I known, I would not have pushed you to share with us so soon."

"It's alright, Professor. You couldn't have known." Harry said with a dismissive shrug and was rewarded with a kind smile from the Professor.

"But, now that I do have some understanding, I must ask something of you my boy." Harry tensed at this, so the Headmaster smiled reassuringly, the twinkle returning to his eye for the first time since they exited the memory. "Do this old man's heart some good and go see Madame Pomfrey. Tell her that I want her to give you a thorough check up. Top to bottom. Can you do that for me Harry?"

The rigid set of Harry's shoulders melted at this, and the boy smiled a bit at his headmaster. "I can do that, Professor. Sounds like a good idea, actually. Would you like me to go now?"

The headmaster nodded and so Harry got up to leave, picking his discarded hat up off the ground on his way out. Hermione moved to follow him, but Dumbledore speared her with a look that told her exactly what his words did not a moment later.

"You are not yet dismissed, Miss Granger. We need to talk." Harry looked over his shoulder at this, glancing between his best friend and headmaster a few times before shaking his head, plopping his hat back on his head, and making his way out the door for the hospital wing.

"Headmaster? What did you want to talk about?" Dumbledore quietly regarded the girl sat in front of him, collecting his thoughts. After several moments of contemplative silence, the headmaster sighed and steepled his fingers in front of his face.

"Miss Granger, I need you to understand the gravity of what it is Harry went through last night."

Hermione cut in, much to Dumbledore's quiet displeasure. "Professor, with all due respect, I don't think _either_ of us understands, and we won't until we get a good explanation of this Nightmare he had."

He shook his head, disappointed but not surprised at her attitude. "While we may never have a perfect understanding of _exactly_ what he went through, such an understanding is not necessary. Indeed, to get such a thing out of him, especially so soon after the traumatic happenings themselves, would require us to essentially pour salt in some very fresh wounds, to put it simply." Hermione frowned at this.

"But Professor, my parents have always taught me that it is a good thing, a helpful thing, to open up about what has hurt you and talk about it with people you trust. Holding it in doesn't help anything."

Dumbledore smiled gently at the girl. "They are not wrong. Much good can come from opening up to those that you care greatly for." Hermione smiled triumphantly, but the headmaster continued solemnly.

"That being said: to _force_ someone to talk about trauma that they have gone through, especially so soon after it has happened, more often than not does far more harm than good." Her triumphant smile slipped away, replaced with a thoughtful frown.

"Headmaster, are you sure …" and she trailed off questioningly, not quite sure herself of what she was trying to ask.

"Take me for example." He said, and Hermione looked at him in confused curiosity. No doubt she was wondering when the Great Albus Dumbledore had ever been traumatized.

Sometimes Albus truly despised the heroic status afforded to him by the wizarding public. His own mythos was so strong that even incredibly intelligent witches like Miss Granger often forgot that he was human, with flaws and fears and everything else that made people who they are.

He continued before she had a chance to ask a question. "Many years ago, I traveled into Germany and lead an assault on Grindelwald's fortress. You know, of course, that I dueled him and that I defeated him." Hermione nodded her head, though the confusion hadn't quite left her eyes yet.

"Everyone knows that. But, there was much that happened before I found him you see." Albus' already serious tone took on a somber note. "Terrible things. Things much like what we saw in that memory of Harry's." A glint of understanding sparked in the girl's eyes, her mouth opening in a silent 'oh.' No doubt she saw where he was going with this, but it needed to be said regardless.

"I was in much the same state Harry is in now after I fought Grindelwald. I came to terms with what I saw on my own. I had to. Just the thought of what I had seen, what I had done?" The headmaster shook his head. "I could not speak of it for many years."

Hermione's eyes turned to her lap, watching as her hands idly fussed with the edge of her jumper. He could practically see the flurry of thoughts going through Hermione's head as she processed what he had told her. After a moment spent chewing her lip in thought, she nodded once, decisively, and turned determined eyes up to his.

"What should I do Headmaster?" Albus couldn't help but smile at the girl's dedication to her friend. He idly wondered if that kiss those two had shared actually meant anything, or if Harry had just done it in a moment of mania. Only time would tell, he supposed. Although … perhaps it would be wise to insure that the two spoke of it before doing anything they might regret. He would hate to see such a beautiful friendship ruined by something as small as a misunderstanding.

"Be there for him. Support him. Listen when he wants to talk, and respect him when he wishes to remain silent. Don't push him to talk before he's ready. In a word? Be his friend, Miss Granger. It's as simple as that."

"Simple. Right." The girl muttered under her breath, but the Headmaster heard her.

"That was all I wanted to say, Miss Granger. Now, I'm sure you'd like to catch up to Harry." Hermione nodded eagerly and stood, ready to leave his office.

"Let him know that he's excused from classes until he feels up to them again." Here Dumbledore smiled at her. "And I will let your professors know that you and Mr. Weasley are also excused from classes today. I daresay that Harry will need the support of his friends now more than ever."

Hermione beamed gratefully at him, relief clear in her eyes. "Thank you Headmaster! I was rather worried about leaving him alone in the state he's in." Then, what the headmaster had said caught up to her completely, making her worry her lip for a moment before continuing.

"Headmaster, I'm afraid that Harry and Ron had a rather," She paused, looking for the right words, "heated argument last night about Harry's entry into the Tournament. I am not sure we can count on Ron being of any help right now."

The headmaster nodded sagely, fully aware of this. "Be that as it may, it would be wrong to not at least give him the choice, would it not? He may choose wrong, but he could surprise you." Hermione nodded, but didn't seem all that convinced.

"I shall inform Mr. Weasley when I return to the Great Hall. Off you pop!" Hermione nodded and left his office. The headmaster watched her leave, and then waited a bit to allow some distance to grow between them before making his way back to the Great Hall.

They were in the same direction from his office, and he wanted a moment alone to try and gather his thoughts. Doubtless it would help Miss Granger as well, assuming she didn't break into a run the moment she was out of sight.

The walk back to the Great Hall was not terribly long, and before he knew it Albus was behind the head table, watching a small, impromptu staff meeting happen around the strange blue lamp that had heralded Harry's arrival. The only staff member not present was Alastor, but that was not surprising. Alastor never ate in public unless forced to do so.

Albus was glad to note that the ground around the lamp had stopped rippling, though the addition of the four messengers, submerged up to their waists in the floor irrespective of how solid it was, that were praying at its base troubled him somewhat. He had only ever seen those strange beings in places that had a great deal to do with memory, pensieves and the like, so what were they doing grouped around this lamp and praying of all things?

"Curiouser and curiouser!" Filius muttered to himself after finishing a small battery of charms aimed at the lamp. Albus silently agreed with his colleague, rubbing his beard idly.

"What do you make of it Filius?" The headmaster asked.

"Oh, headmaster!" The diminutive Charms Master squeaked in surprise. "I can't seem to make heads or tails of this. What is it?"

Albus shook his head, noting how the messengers turned to watch their conversation with silent, hollow expressions. "I am afraid I don't know. What can you tell me Filius? Anything you've learned, no matter how trivial it seems."

With a short bob of his head, Flitwick continued excitedly. "I've tried every spell I could think of on it, short of Fiendfyre of course. I think that it might be indestructible. It can't be moved, charmed-"

Minerva cut in, an agitated lilt to her voice. "Or transfigured."

Filius nodded, unfazed at the interruption. "Severus tried to melt it with some acid he created, but that had no effect." Albus noted that Severus sat at the table eating his breakfast, seemingly ignoring the goings on around the lamp. His lack of success in damaging the lamp must have frustrated him to no end.

"If you look closely, you'll notice that the light it emits is from a small blue flame. It produces no heat, casts no shadows," Albus' eyes went wide as he looked around at those gathered there, and, sure enough, not one of them cast a shadow from the pale blue light of the lamp. Strangely enough though, the messengers _did._

"And nothing we've tried has been able to put it out." Filius continued, eyeing the lamp like it was an opponent in a duel that had bested him. "Listen closely, do you hear that?"

He did. Just audible over the din of students having breakfast in the Great Hall was a faint hum, wavering through the air like the sound of a bell stretched out and out until it seemed to have no clear beginning or end. It was a strangely beautiful, yet haunting sound.

"Like a bell it is." Hagrid said. "Wonder what happens if ye ring it?" With that, Hagrid stepped forward and, bending down lower than anyone thought the massive man capable of, he gave the bell hanging from the bottom of the lamp a flick.

It rang a soft, tinkling tune that traveled the breadth of the Great Hall not by virtue of being loud, but by simply _refusing_ to be drowned out by anything. The clattering of silverware on plates and the dull roar of conversation in the still quite full Great Hall ceased at once, only to turn into confused murmurings as the tune didn't stop, didn't pick up pace, or slow, but somehow intensified, as if the sound came from _within_ their ears rather than from without.

The floor around the lamp rippled once again, the messengers there gathering to one side of the lamp, forming a circle. They reached down, through the floor betwixt them, sinking in up to their shoulders in what should have been solid stone. Then, as Albus Dumbledore and his unseeing staff watched, the messengers began to lift something out of the floor.

Harry, hat pulled low and scarf back in place to keep the curious at bay during his trek across the castle, pushed the doors of the Hospital Wing open, walking with purposeful strides towards the office at its back despite the nervous twitching of his eyes around and over every corner, nook, and cranny.

He tried desperately to ignore how the shadows crept towards him, slithering over the floor from where they should be whenever he wasn't looking straight at them, only to snap back into place the moment his eyes fell on them.

This is ridiculous; he thought to himself, he's in _Hogwarts_! He should be safe, he should _feel_ safe dammit!

"But really," Evelyn's voice whispered in his ear, Harry stopping cold in the middle of the Hospital wing, eyes wide as saucers. "When are we ever _truly_ safe, except for when we're alone?" The heat of her breath ghosted over his ear, sending a shiver down his spine and his head whipping in her direction.

"Evelyn! Where have you-" Only empty air greeted him. "Been?" He finished in a whisper, frantically looking up and down the length of the Hospital Wing for his partner, spinning on his heel, hoping to catch a glimpse of her as she slipped out of the doors that he knew had closed behind him when he entered.

Nothing.

He was alone.

The shadows had stopped seeking him out.

And he had never felt so unsafe in Hogwarts in all his life.

Harry's hands twitched, itching for the comforting weight of a weapon, but he tamped the urge down, taking off his hat to run shaking fingers through his hair instead.

 _What was that?_

Oh, he remembered well when Evelyn had said it to him, pressed against the wall of the workshop, her lips at his ear and his manhood in her delicate yet calloused grasp. It was the first time, his first time, but it was by far not the last.

A memory then. A memory, and nothing more.

"Echoes of the past." He muttered to himself, putting it out of his mind with a sharp shake of his head.

Just then, the office door at the end of the Hospital Wing opened and Madame Pomfrey bustled out, scrutinizing him from top to bottom.

"Hello," She started in a clipped tone. "What brings you here, sir?" Harry lowered his face covering and her eyes lit up with recognition. "Mr. Potter! What have you done this time? Term has just started!" In an instant her wand was in her hand and she was advancing on him, arm raised and ready to cast with the smallest flick.

Harry flinched hard, jerking back a few steps to maintain his distance. The Madame stopped, her wand arm lowering slightly, a worried frown pulling at her mouth.

Harry, fists clenched at his sides to stop their incessant shaking, spoke quickly and only just loudly enough for the Matron to hear. "Sorry, just don't – not so fast, yeah? Give a bloke a coronary." He forced a chuckle, but her expression didn't lighten. If anything it darkened further. Regardless, she nodded her head once, and Harry continued.

"Err, yeah. The Headmaster wants you to give me a checkup. 'Top to bottom,' is what he said." The Matron's eyes narrowed slightly at that.

"Very well. Pick a bed and get down to your skivvies."

He looked at her questioningly as he moved to a nearby bed. "Never needed to be starkers before."

She drew the curtains around the bed, and plopped a bin at his feet. "Not starkers, Mr. Potter. Your underwear will do. Put your clothes in this bin, if you would." Harry nodded, shucking his overcoat and dumping it into the bin where it landed with a strange thud. It was heavier than it looked with all of his assorted gear stowed away in it.

"Now I have some questions I need to ask you, Mr. Potter, as part of your physical."

He eyed her warily as he undid the straps that held his undercoat shut, but he nodded his acquiescence.

"First off, why are you covered in bloodstains?"

"None of it's mine." His undercoat dropped into the bin, leaving him in a white cotton shirt heavily splattered with brown, dried blood.

"That's not what I asked." Her hands went to her hips and she pinned him with a stern look, but she was no Hermione. She was not his friend, or a trusted professor, or anyone to him really. He owed her precisely _nothing_.

"That's all the answer you're getting." He stated matter of factly, his hands making quick work of unbuttoning his shirt as he spoke.

Madame Pomfrey huffed but moved on. "Have you taken any potions recently?" Harry nodded but didn't elaborate. "What kind of potion?" He just tilted his head at her in question. "I need to know so that I can account for it later, otherwise I might get erroneous readings which could spell your _death_ young man!"

Harry was utterly unmoved by the threat of death, but he was running on empty already and didn't have the energy to argue the point. Besides, he'd already told Dumbledore and 'Mione about it, telling the school nurse couldn't hurt.

"I took a sedative not even an hour ago." He pulled his shirt off and dropped it into the bin, then sat on the bed behind him to work at getting his nearly knee high boots off.

"What kind of sedative?" Harry sighed, pulling the bin of his clothes close enough to rile through. A moment later he pushed it away, now with a bottle of the milky white sedative in hand. He held it up for her to see.

"This kind."

"Hmph," she reached out and plucked the small bottle out of his hand, secreting it away in some pouch on her voluminous healer robes. "I will have to examine it before I do any of the blood work."

Harry froze, one boot off and the other halfway down. "Blood work?" He said in a small voice.

"Of course. I need to test you for any blood borne illnesses, _especially_ since you found reason to become covered in blood that was not your own at some point." Harry's blood rushed in his ears. His pupils shrunk to pin pricks in a sea of green, muscles having gone taught with animalistic fear.

"No." The word was barely a whimper, but the Matron heard him.

"Really Mr. Potter, it's nothing to be concerned about. The needle is charmed to be completely painless, you won't-"

"NO!" Harry scrambled backwards over the hospital bunk, his boot sent soaring in his sudden feverish need to _get away_. "You can't have my blood! Get away!" He turned and launched himself off the edge of the bunk, aiming to go through the curtain and run as far away from here as he could get, only to slam into the unyielding wall that the curtain had suddenly become.

He whipped around, chest heaving with desperate breaths, and saw Madame Pomphrey's wand pressed against the curtain.

She made it solid.

He's trapped.

 _She_ trapped him here!

With a terrible scream, Harry launched himself back over the hospital bunk, intent on tearing the Matron apart.

There was a flash of red, and Harry knew no more.

The first thing the assembled professors saw was a bonnet. Colored in dark, muted tones, a bundle of three dried roses pinned to one side, it rose upon a head of long white hair.

"Well I'll be." Hagrid muttered. The rest watched, some in wide eyed amazement, and one particularly short professor watching with no small amount of glee bleeding through. Of them all, only the headmaster had his wand in hand, though he kept it lowered, hoping not to accidentally provoke whoever was coming through the lamp.

She wore a long, hooded shawl decorated with golden tassels and filigree along the edge over top of a corseted dress. She came to rest just as the floor stopped rippling, kneeling in much the same way Harry had been when he came through the lamp. The messengers moved back, still encircling her, but did not take their gaze away from her.

A shockingly pale hand reached out to gently pat the nearest messenger on the head.

"Ahh, thank you, Little Ones." She spoke in a soft, melodic voice that, if Dumbledore was not mistaken, had a Czech accent to it. The messengers made a strange noise somewhere between a grunt and a coo before sliding through the floor and back to the lamp to resume their vigil.

"Hello Madame," Albus started, feeling just a hint of Déjà vu at the situation, as the woman rose to her full height and turned towards him. Her hands were loosely laid over one another in front of her, her feet close together, shoulders relaxed but back straight. The stance of a regal woman that was completely comfortable in her environment. But, that was not the first thing Albus noted about her.

Albus Dumbledore was not a short man by any stretch of the imagination. Standing at a little over six feet, he was quite used to only ever having to look up to Hagrid and Madame Maxime. So it was that he was pleasantly surprised, novel things are so rare at his age after all, that this newcomer was the same height as him.

All of this Albus took in during the short pause he took as the woman turned to acknowledge him.

"Welcome to Hogwarts. What brings you here?" The woman smiled warmly at him, tilting her head as she considered him with eyes unlike any Albus had ever seen before. Slanted slightly, and set in a delicate face with a pointed jaw, her eyes were pools of liquid silver edged in black that shone with a faint inner light like an inverted solar eclipse, where the Sun was darkened and the moon made all the brighter for it.

He could see the kindness in those eyes, the compassion she held in her heart, and he knew in his heart that this was a good woman. But, Albus was a careful man, so he disregarded his instincts, and sent a gentle Legilimancy probe her way, just to be sure.

The light of her eyes swallowed his vision, a great wall of soft moonlight rising up, impenetrable, unassailable, eclipsing all that he knew or could ever know, and Albus Dumbledore suddenly felt very small, like a mote of dust floating in an endless ocean. His probe fizzled in his mind, returning nothing, not even her surface thoughts to him. He was about to withdraw, unwilling to test something of this enormity, when the moonlight shifted towards him.

It bypassed his probe entirely, following along its roots and straight to Albus' own mental barriers. On other days, Albus would often think his barriers were quite strong. Not the best in the world certainly, but he was confident in his ability to defend himself.

Not now.

Not against the enormity of the entity shining now into his mind. It reached out, a feather like ray of light extending to brush against his psyche as his probe had done, and his mental shields buckled and cracked, giving way almost immediately to the force behind such a gentle caress. He winced, pain lancing through his mind as he raced to reinforce his shields, to _focus_ enough to at least hold himself together under whatever assault this being was about to launch at him.

Only for it to recoil immediately as his pain radiated out of his cracked shield. The miasma of silvery moonlight pulled back, just to the edges of his consciousness, and he could feel its attention on him as he repaired the damage it had, seemingly unintentionally, caused. It reached out again, tentatively this time, only the faintest wisp of its consciousness extending to him. Albus braced himself, preparing for even such a small touch to utterly shatter his already damaged mental barriers. If it could do that much damage so easily, what would happen to him when it got through?

He prayed that it had good intentions, because if it did not then he would likely not survive it.

The thin wisp of moonlight ever so lightly brushed against his shields, and this time there was no pain, no pressure from its presence. Instead, it brushed along the edges of his barriers, spreading soothing warmth that seeped through to his very core. In its wake his barriers repaired themselves, and pain was lost, becoming only a distant memory he had to struggle to remember.

Before he knew it, his barriers were completely repaired and, with a gentle caress that Albus _knew_ was an apology for the pain it had inadvertently caused him, the entity withdrew from his mind, though the light it had cast into him, even through his barrier, did not fade entirely.

For a short moment Albus stayed within the comfort of his own mind, reflecting on how much brighter everything seemed now.

He opened his eyes, and was surprised to find himself on his knees at the woman's feet, one of his hands clasped between both of her own, a faint aura of swirling light quickly dissipating as she opened shining eyes and smiled apologetically at him. Albus made to rise, her hands gently tightening around his as she helped him to his feet.

It was then, as he stood and really _looked_ at her face for the first time, that he saw how perfectly smooth and pale she was, like porcelain, and how, despite its warmth, her hand was hard and unyielding.

Around him, his staff members had gathered, some with wands in hand, all with concerned expressions, but Minerva was the only one to voice their concerns.

"Headmaster, are you alright?" He said nothing, only nodding absently, never taking his eyes away from those silver pools of moonglow. She looked him over with a critical eye, and, upon seeing nothing obviously wrong, turned a suspicious eye onto the woman still holding his hand between her own.

"What are you?" The headmaster asked softly before he could think better of it. He was distantly aware of his staff letting out small noises of astonishment at his question, but he ignored them. He'd have to have an actual staff meeting tonight to explain … what? What could he possibly tell them? He put that line of thought out of his mind for now.

The woman's smile did not waver, and her voice was kind as she answered. "I am a Doll, created by you humans." Dumbledore's brow furrowed. Doubtless she was telling the truth, and that meant that she looked like she was made of porcelain because she _was_. But, no magic that he knew of, real or from ancient legends, could endow a simple doll with life.

There was no question in his mind that the Doll was alive. No inanimate object, no matter how heavily enchanted or sentient it became, could have legilimency successfully cast on it. If she was inanimate and merely enchanted, or even sentient as the Sorting Hat was, then the spell would do nothing.

What had just happened was most certainly _not_ nothing.

"Where did you come from?" Albus realized that his hand was still held between hers, and that one of her thumbs was rubbing soothing circles on the back of his hand, sending strange pulses of warmth through him.

She raised his hand up to inspect it. "From the Dream. From the Moon. From the heart of Man. All of these are true, but without any one of them I would not be here now." She made a small noise of triumph, and brought his hand up between them, forcing Albus to look at it.

"There you are, good as new." She smiled a bright smile at him, but Albus didn't really see it, or hear the gasps and astonished shouts of his staff around him, far too preoccupied with his hand.

His smooth, no longer liver spotted, _young looking hand_. He moved his other hand to trace where there used to be a spot roughly the same shape as Illinois, and felt his heart stutter in his chest when he realized his other hand was just as flawless and young looking as the first.

He flipped his hands over, examining them front to back, pulling his sleeves back only to find that his arms were the same way: not a wrinkle or any sign of his advanced age to be found. His beard was just as long and white as it should be, he noted with a strange mix of relief and disappointment. But then his hands found his face, and under his still white beard was the hard cut face of his youth. Smooth skin greeted him wherever his hands roamed, and as his half moon glasses slipped further down his nose he realized that everything seemed clearer now.

"What did you do?" He asked the Doll. She giggled at him, one hand daintily covering her mouth as she did so.

"I channeled the echoes of power in your blood, as I have done for countless others." She said this as if it was no great feat, to return a man more than a century old to the prime of his youth! He could not stop the laugh that burst out of him at the thought, or repress the beaming smile that followed.

Then, something she had said earlier clicked in his brain.

He looked over his staff gathered around the two of them, all of them looking between him and the Doll with the most astonished and downright hilarious looks on their faces. Minerva's reputation as the ever-stern task master would certainly be shattered if any of the students saw her in the state she was in now: slack-jawed and with wide eyes zipping comically back and forth between him and the still smiling Doll.

But, as amusing as their reactions were, it would be best if he and the Doll had a chance to speak without prying ears.

"I do believe that classes will be starting soon." Albus said to his staff before casting a quick tempus to illustrate his point. "And classes are most enlightening when the professors actually attend, wouldn't you all agree?" He finished with a smirk and a twinkle in his eye.

Hagrid, the lovable beast of a man that he was, laughed outright at that. "Aye, that they are Professor." With another chuckle, Hagrid walked away from the assembled group. Severus was the first to follow, understanding the dismissal for what it was, but not before glaring distrustfully at the Doll. Albus sighed internally at that, not looking forward to hearing whatever logic Severus invented to hate the Doll. The others followed, but Minerva and Filius held back.

"Worry not Minerva, she means me no harm." He said before the frowning woman could voice her thoughts. "And Filius?" The tiny man tore his overly intent gaze away from the Doll to meet his Headmaster's eye. "You can sate your curiosity later. The students come first, yes?" The Charms master nodded begrudgingly and he and Minerva took their leave.

The Doll watched them go with a serene smile, and then strode smoothly around Dumbledore, stopping next to his throne to look out over the four massive tables that lined the Great Hall. A sea of young, expectant faces looked back at her, taking her in as their voices rose, supposition and rumor already flying between the students. Though classes would start soon, many were lingering in hopes of discovering just what that odd chime they heard earlier was, and no doubt many of them would connect that sound to the appearance of the strange woman in the Great Hall that day.

"I've never seen so many people in one place before." The Doll said in a quiet, wonder filled voice. Her hands moved to cover her heart as she smiled adoringly at the students, meeting each of their eyes as she swept her gaze from one side to the other. "Oh, it fills me with joy, and … something else." She paused, trying to find the right words as Dumbledore moved to stand beside her.

The students caught sight of him, and even from the very back of the Great Hall they could tell that he looked different. Those closest to the staff table were quick to figure out what had changed, and word spread like wildfire through the assembled students as whispers and shouts of "Dumbledore's young again!" echoed in the Great Hall.

She turned to him, tears shining in her silver eyes that refused to fall. "It feels as if a weight I did not know I carried has been lifted. Do you know what it means?"

"You said you were from the Dream, yes?" The Doll nodded. "Who else was in the dream with you?"

"Countless Hunters passed through the Dream over the years, but only Gehrman had been there from the beginning, guiding each new Hunter through their night and back to the Waking World."

"Gehrman was not very good company, I would wager." Dumbledore ventured a guess and was rewarded with an airy giggle from the Doll.

"No, he was not. He slept, fitfully, except for when he greeted the new Hunters, and towards the end, when his rest turned peaceful. He never spoke to me." She said this matter of factly, her smile never wavering despite the innate sadness in the words themselves. Her only constant companion over the years refused to speak to her? How awful! Albus' heart bled for the poor dear.

"Ah, I see." Albus began. "I think that you were lonely in the dream, and what you felt was that loneliness abating."

"Truly?" The Doll gave a quiet sigh as a single tear escaped and ran down her cheek. She wiped it away with a hand, the tear rolling down into her palm, where it stayed. Then, as Albus watched, the small drop expanded, coalescing into a small, smooth gemstone that shone from within with a faint silvery light.

The Doll held the stone up to examine it, and wistfully said, "Oh, I'm crying again. If only Harry were here to see it."

Several questions cried out in the Headmaster's mind, but he pushed them aside and focused on the most important one at the moment. "You know Harry?" Albus asked. He had suspected as much from the moment she appeared, but it is good to know rather than assume.

The Doll turned to regard him with a smile. "Of course. He was such a kind Hunter. Is he here?" She asked, excitement creeping into her melodic voice and bringing a definite light to her eyes.

"Why yes he is. He's in the Hospital Wing right now." The headmaster knew that this was a worrying statement; that it would likely be considered dramatic by many, but he couldn't help himself. He'd always had a thing for dramatics.

The Dolls posture did not change, but her smile fell away and her voice hardened. "Is he hurt? Take me to him."

Dumbledore nodded, "Of course." He said, motioning for her to follow him as he made his way around the staff table and out of the Great Hall. The students watched them with rapt attention, even as many of them realized that they were verging on being late and made hasty efforts to finish their breakfasts and pack their things. It was as they were passing the end of the Gryffindor table and Albus caught sight of a particular mop of red hair that he remembered why he had come back to the Great Hall to begin with.

The headmaster did not need to get the young man's attention. Indeed, he already had the full attention of the entire Great Hall.

"Mr. Weasley." He said in greeting to the gaping lad.

"Headmaster! You-you're young! What happened?" Every single student within earshot, and several that were not, leaned in to listen.

Dumbledore smiled and gestured at the Doll beside him. "That was all her, Mr. Weasley. I am not quite sure how she did it, but I am grateful nonetheless." The Doll smiled at him, inclining her head in acknowledgement of his thanks.

Ron looked the Doll over from head to toe, taking in her pale, porcelain appearance, and inverse eclipse eyes, and said, "Err, yeah. Good job." The Doll smiled pleasantly at him in response.

"Mr. Weasley," Albus waited for him to shift his attention before he continued. "Young Harry has been through quite the ordeal over the course of the night and is currently in the Hospital Wing." Ron's expression visibly darkened at that. "We were just on our way to see him. You are welcome to join us. I'll be sure to inform your professors not to count your absence against you."

Ron scowled. "No thanks Professor."

Both the Headmaster and the Doll frowned at him, but it was Albus who spoke. "Mr. Weasley, Harry needs his friends now more than ever. Put aside whatever ill has come between you two and do what is right."

But Ron only shook his head, muttering, "He got himself into it, he can bloody well get himself out."

The headmaster shook his head sadly at the boy. "I am disappointed in you, Mr. Weasley." The lad flinched at that, but turned back to his breakfast, dismissing them and any concern he had for Harry both.

Albus turned to the Doll, and was disconcerted to see the glare she had leveled at the back of Mr. Weasley's head.

"Let's go," he said. "Mr. Weasley has made his choice." The Doll nodded, and together they left the Great Hall to much buzz amongst the students.

"Harry is not hurt." He said as they passed through the doors of the Great Hall and turned in the direction of the Hospital Wing.

The Doll smiled, relieved. "Good. The thought of him being hurt is," She paused, once more seeking the appropriate word for how she is feeling. "Distressful."

Albus nodded. "Indeed, I don't like the thought any more than you do. I only asked him to go there for a quick check up with the school nurse, just to make sure that he was alright after his," Now it was the Headmaster's turn to search for an appropriate word. "Ordeal last night."

The Doll frowned at that. "The Last Hunt was long and arduous for them both. However, it is not his body that I worry for."

"I second that, Miss Doll." The Doll giggled at him, and he turned to her with furrowed brows. "What? What did I say?"

"I am a Doll, and you may call me as such, but it sounds so silly when you put 'Miss' in front of it." The Doll giggled again, one of her hands moving to cover her mouth as she did.

Albus regarded her curiously for a moment before asking, "Do you have a name?"

The Doll turned to him with shining eyes. "You are only the second human to ever ask me that."

"Who was the first?"

"Harry. He did not like my answer, and so he gave me a name." She looked at the tear stone still held in her hand for a moment before continuing. "Marie. My name is Marie."

Author's Note: It's a bit shorter than the first one, but I'm happy enough with it. Now, there is a certain conversation that I may have promised a few reviewers was going to happen this chapter. That particular scene is being pushed back to next chapter. Everything with the Doll (and I hope you like the name Harry picked for her) took a whole lot longer to write than I expected. I'd like to whole-heartily apologize for the long wait, but I can't promise the next one will be faster unfortunately.

In the mean time, leave your thoughts behind before you go. I will never hold a story hostage to a certain review count, but they _do_ help motivate me a lot. Even the criticisms. Be honest with me folks, what did ya think? Till next time!


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